


Closed Circle

by pfeifferpack



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfeifferpack/pseuds/pfeifferpack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demons roam the world freely as men huddle in fear. A champion must be forged, one that will stand in the breach and combat the evil. Only a powerful worker of magic can bring such a wonder to pass.</p><p>Written in 2006 as an entry at watchersdiaries on LJ I never posted it here.  Canon Spuffy is implied as this takes place many centuries after Not Fade Away.  Does not include comic canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

~~~

Chapter 1

~~~

Omalara skirted the village, keeping to the shadows. The demons had long since claimed all of this land as their domain. The elders spoke of a time when such was not the case, the time when demons were the ones who cowered in fear. They roamed in the darkness and did their evil in secret while waiting for the Old Ones to rise. Long ages had passed since the pure demons had ruled, but many years had seen the yoke of their lesser descendents’ reign of terror.

Omalara knew no other way.

There were outposts of safety, but they were few and scattered. It was becoming a real possibility that the time of the human was soon to pass. If action were not taken, humans would become as much a part of history as the Old Ones deep within the earth.

The men still sat and spoke of the time of their power, the time before the scattering. Once there was a champion. Then there were many. Then there were none. Now the men just talked. None stood to fight the demons; none sought the old ways. They were content to tell their tales and hide in the shadows.

"Keep low and disguise your scent." Omalara’s father had taught her well. She learned the old ways from the elder women. Omalara was a healer by practice, one who knew the herbs that heal, the potions that kill. She had learned more than that, however. She had studied with one of the last who remembered "the Before Time" at all.

Nkiruka was feared by the men and forced to live apart. She was old and toothless when Omalara had first come upon her cave as darkness fell and danger roved with gaping jaws of death. Nkiruka had claimed to smell the power in the young girl and had offered to teach her.

"All was one," Nkiruka had insisted, "Even the soulless ones are part of the whole."

Omalara had been shocked at that idea and said so.

"All of nature is connected, little one. You must learn the hidden mysteries and open your inner eye before you can use the power within. You must never let it control you or you will become as dangerous as the creatures that prey upon humans."

The old woman had stressed humility at all times. Never was Omalara permitted to gloat as her powers increased rapidly. "Pride led to this dire circumstance in which we find ourselves. That pride was followed by the fall that never ends. You are well named, child--Omalara means ‘born at the right time,’ just as my name means ‘best is yet to come’. The Powers chose well and we must not let them down."

As the old witch taught the young girl spells and helped the child make talismans, she told of the history of the people. She spoke of a time when the patriarchs did not rule and the feminine was in ascent. She taught Omalara to revere life and the giver of life. She made certain the girl knew that the limits to be set were not involving the amount of power she had but rather how much was proper to use.

Nkiruka showed the girl how to make a closed circle of protection for the working of her spells. She showed her how to purify the place before calling on the Powers and speaking the words of making. She taught of the threefold laws and how important it was to never use Omalara’s power for harm, as it would come back on her if violated.

Omalara studied hard and honored her teacher with her reverent attitude toward the power that was growing by leaps and bounds within her. As Nkiruka’s time drew near to rejoin the Great Mother, she entrusted the greatest secret to her young protegee.

That secret was now buried deep within the young witch, burning with the possibilities it carried with it. To dream of a world where humans could walk in safety and raise families without fear was enticing.

When Omalara laid her teacher to rest, she began to form a plan. She must purify herself first, drive out all selfish intent and remember the laws. She must also seek counsel and learn all her elders had to teach. Then and only then could she seek out the one who held the memories.

~~~

Her father was not pleased at the questions put forth by Omalara. Women in his tribe knew their place. His daughter had a gift, true, and that was for the benefit of wounded warriors and to make potions that produced healthy male children. Her abilities far exceeded any other healer and so he had remained silent as the girl made her stealthy way to the cave of the old crone. That one was a danger and it was only her death that had stopped Akintunde from locking his wayward child away from the old woman’s influence. Now Omalara was asking questions best left unasked.

"But, Father," she persisted, "how is it wrong to know our roots? To know our past is to reclaim our glory. We cower in fear when we could triumph."

"Child," he answered patiently, "it is a dangerous thing you think to do. The past is dead. It blows in the air like the blood thieves when they meet their end." He looked at his daughter sternly before warning her. "The old one was of those who believed they had the answer. They worked their magic and brought down the demons only to make more of them! Even these women became a threat to the people as they used their power to do their own will. Leave it alone, child."

"But I am not like that, Father!" Omalara was frustrated at her father’s refusal to listen to the idea she had to free her people. "I know humility. I know of the wrongs done and the dangers of the power we must unleash. I also know of one who was there, one who is the Keeper of the Memories. This one can tell me what I need to know to help our people, to defeat the evil ones. This one has the wisdom of the before time."

"This cannot be, Daughter," Akintunde insisted. "All who lived in the before time rest with our ancestors Even the old woman only knew the stories told by her grandmothers. You place too much authority in a senile old troublemaker!"

"Please, father, do not speak of Nkiruka in that manner," the girl cried as tears welled in her eyes. "She was a mother to me and now I stand motherless in my grief."

Akintunde offered his arms to comfort the young woman. He would search for a proper husband for her immediately. A good strong man would soon take her mind off of such nonsense as that with which the old witch had infected her. Nothing like a mate and children to keep a woman busy and out of trouble.

~~~

Much to Omalara’s dismay, the next few weeks found her suddenly the center of attention from all the unmarried men of her tribe. She thought to question her father about this development, but he forestalled her with, "You are growing to be quite lovely, my daughter. See how the young men flock like bees to your flower?"

Some of the other girls in the village murmured gossip that Omalara was using her magic to make herself more attractive to the handsome young warriors. As her popularity amongst the males increased, so did the suspicion and dislike among the other girls.

"She was always a strange one," one girl said in Omalara’s hearing. "Mark my words, she’s going to find herself exiled to that cave she spent all that time in not so long ago."

All Omalara hoped for was a bit of peace to think through her plans, her dreams. One day her people would understand and thank her. For now, she ducked around corners, avoiding the lusty would-be suitors as she did the demons of the night. She was becoming exhausted with all the furtiveness and longed for the days when she could pass unnoticed through the village.

The situation did light a fire within her, though not the one her father had hoped. No, Omalara became impatient to leave on her quest. She had planned to wait and learn all she could from her own people first, but the excessive attention of her peers was becoming impossible to deal with. Father was pressuring her to name a favorite and if she weren’t careful she would find herself tied to some young man and under his rule. If that happened, there would be no quest, no hope for change.

That night Omalara tied her meager possessions into a bundle and made her way carefully from her village and towards the great unknown.  
~~~

Her trek was long and arduous. Many of the demons that ruled the earth were not threatened by sunlight and Omalara had to be on guard at all hours. The blood thieves were confined to the nighttime and the best protection from them was to find a kind-hearted human to offer shelter. They who drank blood and made demons could not enter a human’s home unless asked. Omalara had to find shelter in broad daylight to have any hope of welcome. As it was, her progress was slow.

Along the way she collected whatever folktales, oral histories or advice that the huddled humans might be willing to share. There were elements in the stories that were merely flights of fancy, but a kernel of truth was to be found in most. So Omalara ignored the silly parts about huge hollow mountains where humans lived and worked and being able to travel across great distances in the length of a naptime. Magical roaring beasts that allowed humans to enter their bellies and be taken long distances were the stuff of dreams as her feet swelled after miles of walking toward the Keeper of Memories.

She also improved her skills and knowledge of magic as she went. Whenever she would meet a fellow witch or shaman, she would be welcomed into their circle and they would all share their knowledge with one another. One or two along the way were simply seeking to increase their own power. Omalara learned how to spot that in a practitioner and avoid them. The words and wisdom of Nkiruka were ever in her heart.

The land began to change the further north she traveled. Sand became brown earth, clay-like in texture. There were more rocks and pebbles in her path as well and Omalara fashioned sandals to protect her feet. There were more green growing things and she experimented with these new plants, drying and saving some for later potions.

The climate became cooler, eventually edging into actual cold as the sunrises continued to add up. She hoped her father would forgive her leaving as she had, with no word of warning. It was likely he would be mourning her as one dead. She prayed that one day she could return and ease his sorrow. If she were able to accomplish her goal, there would be an easing of all sorrow and that alone made it worth the deception and hardship.

Near a large, swiftly flowing river, Omalara encountered a tribe of white-skinned people who traveled in a caravan of wagons pulled by muscular horses. The women of this tribe were highly skilled in the magic world. One particular elder had the sight and her people had been expecting Omalara after she had foreseen the coming of the change and the young woman who would bring it about.

These people taught Omalara much--not just of magic, but of the demon world as well. Their people had always had knowledge of the non-human elements that surround everyone but are usually ignored by most. These kind people helped Omalara learn survival skills for the changing climate and she stayed with them for two seasons before resuming her quest.

The second season had produced frozen white water from the sky that coated everything and upon melting caused the river to run high and fast. The tribe had made a permanent camp during that season and much time was spent inside the wagons and tents. Omalara learned much about healing and even learned how to read the colors that surround every living thing. She was disappointed to find that she had no gift for the sight but was grateful for the guidance of the old one who was strong in that gift.

She also learned a bit more about the one whom she was seeking. These people had an ancestor who had actually known the Keeper of Memories and the tales they told her were so amazing that they bordered on the unbelievable. Nights were spent in the warm vardo caravan, listening to the tales and sharing in communal meals. The old grandmother gave advice but did not try to tell Omalara to drop her quest as her father had done.

"You must look at the aura of the Fierce One," the old woman had said. "He is a demon, you know, but one that has humanity in his heart. He sided with mankind ages ago and cannot be counted among the evil ones. He chose his duty, his isolation, after the last human he loved passed from this world. Ask him for his stories of the before times; there is wisdom not to be ignored in the quest for what you seek."

Omalara was directed by her hosts to a human settlement some days’ walk from the entrance to the Great Well. There, she was told, was the village of those descended from the ones who brought protection, safety and disaster in the before times. Most humans could not forgive the unleashing of evil their grandmothers had caused and shunned them. Their ancestors’ good intentions all those ages ago counted for nothing in the face of the fear and suffering in its wake.

The people of the Vlax Rom tribe had a rich oral tradition that was more accurate than other human clans and tribes and Omalara listened to their stories of the before time and tried to remember all she could. Her traveling friends were among the few who had visited the shunned settlement to trade and restock supplies. The people in that settlement were peaceable, but the magic that had once been centered there was of the strongest known on earth.

Omalara was warned that the air itself still sparked with the energy that had been contained in the White One. That witch had let her power loose in the before times and set in motion all that was now the state of the world. There had been an army that fought demons successfully, nearly driving many to extinction in a short time. Then something had happened far beyond where the sun set and even more demons poured out on the earth. The White One was not responsible for that, Omalara was told.

The great demon-fighting army was unruly at best, many using their strength and power for personal gain. Groups of them preyed on the very humans they had been raised to protect. Often men and women hid from their presence as quickly as they did that of the demons. The world became more and more dangerous and the army was blamed and hated for that reason. In time, the members of that ancient army died off and no new warriors were called to service. The magic that had once created the power that fueled the army had been used up in its creation, leaving nothing for future generations.

"The Fierce One was with them, those that fought the demons for the side of good. He was also with those who opened the door to the hordes of demons that poured out to conquer the earth. His spirit is pure, but his heart is heavy," the old woman said. She looked near to tears as she reflected on good intentions gone badly awry. "Helping you will do much to heal his spirit, even as it will help put the balance back. Go and may you be safe and successful."

Omalara left these people fortified with strength, health and courage. The protection talisman around her neck was a parting gift from the old grandmother that had nurtured her and taught her so much.

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

~~~

Omalara walked through the season of rebirth never veering from her objective, all the while taking time to revel in the beauty that surrounded her. Never had she seen so much water as in these northern lands! Lush green vistas lay before her and plants seemed to grow with no human intervention whatsoever. Trees were old and tall with trunks she could never hope to wrap her arms about and have her hands touch! She thought of her people and the hard sandy earth they had to use to grow their meager crops and longed for the days when humankind could be more connected, more able to share in nature’s abundance.

The more Omalara saw in her travels, the more she understood how all was connected and all was part of a living entity. She could feel the power of the universe in every darting rabbit, every budding tree and every flowering bush. She could also feel the residual power of magic as she neared the walled city that was her destination. Those who were descended from the great army were said to still dwell there, even if the magic were lost.

The welcome in the village was not as warm as with the travelling people, but Omalara was granted sanctuary before the coming of dusk. She was taken to the stronghold of the current leader of the community. The edifice was imposing and all of stone. Green, leafy growths covered an outer wall and there was a clear substance that let the view of the interior be seen while allowing sunlight into the building. There were many young women living in this building and Omalara could see them bustle about doing their mysterious duties. She was led to an inner chamber where the tribe elder appeared to reside. The man was her father’s age and dressed strangely in a woven material that seemed far too heavy for the warm day.

"Welcome, traveler," the man offered with a small smile. When he saw that the girl did not fully understand his language, he summoned what had to be a shaman who acted as translator. "How do you come to be so far from your home and what do you wish of us?"

Omalara bowed politely and made her explanations. "I have come to set the world right again. I seek an interview with the Fierce One, the one who keeps the memories of the before times. Only he can show me the way the balance can return and man can be free of fear."

"You seek much, little one," the man replied after hearing the startling words. "Is your power so great then?"

"The power is not mine. It belongs to none but may be used by many," she replied.

The man nodded sagely and spoke to the interpreter who moved to the doorway and said something to a girl in the passageway beyond. The man motioned to a soft chair and indicated that Omalara should be comfortable.

In short order a girl entered, bearing a tray filled with fruits and cheeses and lovely hot loaves of bread. Another girl carried a carafe with a bitter but tasty drink and Omalara was encouraged to help herself to her fill. While she ate and slaked her thirst, the man appeared to consult with others like himself. They spoke quietly but gestured widely, often turning their gaze upon Omalara. When she appeared to be full and was beginning to become a bit impatient, the man returned and beckoned the interpreter back again. The others remained in the room, although at a distance.

"How do you propose to bring this balance?" the man asked.

"I have studied and prepared. There is a way to summon the power needed to defeat the swarms of demons and make life safe for people to live in freedom. There was a before time, a time after the Old Ones who will one day return, and the now when men cower and hide. That is the time I seek to help return." Omalara spoke to the headman, but her eyes took in the others as the translation was done. Their startled looks did not surprise her. Indeed, she suspected there was more knowledge of the before time within these walls than in any other place on earth.

"How do you come here?" The man seemed more interested in learning what Omalara already knew than adding to her knowledge.

"I was directed here by those who travel and who are in tune with the All," She watched for reaction and saw the recognition on the men’s faces. "I sensed the power from the before time as soon as I crested the hill and knew I had been directed to the right place."

Again there was discussion amongst the men gathered. "What do you know of the before time? It will help if we know what you already have learned. We are willing to help you, although I honestly cannot see how a mere girl like yourself can hope to accomplish what you have set out to do." The man sat in a chair opposite Omalara and prepared to listen.

She laid out the bits she did know. She told of the stories of a time when there was one champion, then many, then none. She spoke of times when men and women lived in relative safety, numbering as many as the stars. She told of the days when the demons were kept in check and the Powers mixed in man’s affairs. The men nodded at some points and smiled at others but said not a word.

"There are men in my tribe who once suggested a ritual, a calling," Omalara saw the men perk up at that word. "Some way of making a new champion. These men have given up on the idea, but it lives in my heart. I seek to speak to the Fierce One who holds the knowledge. I hope to take his truth words back and re-light the spark, bring the plans once more into being."

"We know this one you speak of. " The man looked a bit hesitant to reveal more. "He guards the deep well where the Old Ones rest. He came here with the last of the Old Ones in the long gone days. After that Old One lay down in its place, the Fierce One remained to guard the entrance. He is doing penance for opening the gate and allowing the demons to pour into the world." Omalara jerked back in her seat. She had thought the Fierce One was a champion of good. How was it possible he had done such a thing?

The man seemed to understand the reason for her reaction and sought to explain. "He did not do this thing intentionally. He and the other warriors were looking to do the opposite, in fact. They had hoped to remove the influence of evil on this world. All but the Fierce One and his companion perished and it took the last of the magic from our people to close that door they had opened."

"I heard a tale of the White One. Was this the witch that did the closing?" Omalara had seen the wary looks at the mention of the White One.

"Yes, it was she. The power was greater in her than in any other before or since. It was she that caused the sharing that made the army. It was she that lived to see the end. It is said that she died in guilt and sadness for bringing this loss to our world." The man looked sadly at Omalara. "You must guard your gift greatly to not repeat the mistakes of the White One."

"I know well that I must never let pride or self interest guide me. I will take care and always seek counsel," Omalara promised.

"Rest then until daylight. Our people provide the food needed for the Fierce One and a supply is to be taken to the Well in the morning. You may accompany them and speak with him, if he wills it." The man spoke to one of the girls and she smiled and motioned for Omalara to follow her to a sleeping chamber for the night.

Omalara’s eyes were wide, taking in all the things in the great dwelling. There were carved and drawn images of people in odd garb. There were weapons that would make the young men of her village weep with desire. Through the clear sections of wall she could see the town and its people preparing for sundown. She wished she might have had a bit of time to explore this strange place and get to know the people in it, but her quest was too important to delay.

She motioned to the view of the town and looked at the girl escorting her, hoping she would somehow communicate her curiosity. The girl followed Omalara’s pointed finger and noted the raised eyebrows, even if she didn’t understand the spoken question.

"Konsulsentrul," the girl said, as if in answer. They moved on and the girl pointed to a doorway that opened to a large room filled with scrolls and hidebound paper. "Lieberry," the girl added.

Yes, Omalara would love time here. Perhaps if the ritual could be found and balance restored to the world, she could return and satisfy her curiosity. For now, she needed to rest and prepare to meet the Fierce One to beg his help in making the world right again.

~~~

The trek to the secret way to the Deep Well was made in silence. Omalara was curious about the contents of the baskets carried by her companions. She remembered the elder saying they provided nourishment for the one she sought and assumed that was what was in the heavy-looking baskets.

They came to a grove of gigantic old trees and moved directly to one of the largest. The man in the lead seemed to disappear within the trunk of the tree and Omalara could feel the magics as she passed a barrier of some kind that disguised the entrance to a vast cave.

One of the girls called out a name and Omalara could sense movement to her left. A man came into view, his features difficult to distinguish in the dim light of the cave. He took the baskets and smiled at the people who had brought them. He motioned at Omalara with a jerk of his head and asked something of the man who had led them there.

The man took Omalara by the arm and guided her to the Fierce One. ‘Oh, no!’ Omalara panicked as she realized the Fierce One was a blood thief! Surely these humans did not mean to feed her to him! She thought to run, but her purpose held her firmly in place.

The demon called the Fierce One gave a small chuckle and said something to the humans who joined in the laugh. He then turned his lake blue gaze upon Omalara and spoke to her in several tongues of tribes he recognized. From the bits she did understand, he was asking her name and what she wanted.

"I am Omalara of the people of Yoruba who dwell near the river Benue. I am a healer and worker of magic and I seek the wisdom of the before time," Omalara said, drawing herself up in face of her fear.

The Fierce One seemed to search his memory, finally placing her dialect. "You have come a long way." He smiled in a way that eased her fear.

As Omalara sighed her relief that he was able to understand her tongue, she remembered the admonition to look beyond the Fierce One being a demon, to look at the aura around him. She did that now and was astonished to see the colors that proved his goodness and purity of spirit. ‘How can a blood thief be such?’ she wondered to herself but did not give voice to the question. It would not be polite and she was not certain the Fierce One had that answer himself.

The guard of the Old Ones spoke to the villagers and they made their way to the cave entrance, preparing to leave. The demon spoke to Omalara as they left, "I told them to leave you here for us to talk. Don’t worry, you’re safe. I don’t bite. Not for a long, long time."

Omalara smiled, her vision of his true nature having already reassured her. "I wish the truth of the legends. I know it is said that you walked in the before times and hold these memories."

"Can tell stories ‘til the cows come home, pet, but don’t know if hearin’ ‘em’s worth the long walk," he said through chuckles. "Used to be accused of never shuttin’ up, actually. Now I mostly talk to myself, so the company’s welcome." He motioned her further into the cave.

Omalara’s eyes grew huge as she saw the deep hole that seemed to go on forever. There were tombs, likely of the Old Ones, lining the hole. Never had she seen such a burial place!

"Inspirin’, isn’t it?" The Fierce One gestured to the tombs. "Everythin’ has its own time and theirs passed long ago. I’m told their time will come again, but not until man has his turn at bat."

Omalara was unsure of the significance of a flying rodent but nodded at the rest.

"My manners are rusty." The Fierce One motioned to a section of the cave where he obviously lived. "Course, there’s lots of people said I never had any. Sorry, luv."

He placed the baskets in a container that was lowered into an ice-covered stream with a carved opening and indicated that Omalara should make herself comfortable on the chair that faced the one he sat down upon.

"Alright," he began, "where do you want me to start?"

"Fierce One," she began only to have the demon break out in gales of laughter.

"Oh, that’s rich! Is that what they’re callin’ me?" He shook with laughter. "Tell you what, pet, why don’t you just call me…" He seemed to stop to try to remember or decide if he should share such an important piece of magic ammunition as his real name. "Why not just start fresh? My original name meant ‘protector’, even if I didn’t always live up to it. Why not just call me Amazu to remind you that ‘no one knows everything’, yeah?"

"How do you know my language…Amazu?" Omalara was slightly amused at the demon’s choice of name and hoped it would prove not completely accurate like the ‘protector’ before it. She was counting on this one’s knowledge to change her world.

"Lot of time, pet. The wankers in the village don’t use all those books and can’t see all that goin’ to waste. Always did have a bit of a gift for languages though." Amazu settled back in his chair and continued the conversation. "So I ask again, where do you want me to start?"

Omalara looked directly in the demon’s clear blue eyes and could sense the honesty there. "If it is true that you lived in the before time, I seek to know what happened and why. Then I hope you can help me know how to reset the balance."

"Tall order, that last bit," Amazu muttered. "Okay then, settle back. I’ll try to keep it short and sweet."

Amazu began his tale of the before time. Many of the more fanciful tales appeared to be hard truths and Omalara believed this demon. He spoke of a girl, one chosen by the Powers in each generation. This girl had powers to fight the demons. Men helped the girl do this task and gathered much knowledge. In time, the men believed themselves to be the true power and the girl more of a weapon they used and discarded. Amazu’s face grew hard and bitter at this memory.

"The last of the Chosen was the best of the lot," he said, his eyes dreamy. "She was pure and kind and good. She was also the best fighter I ever came against. I loved her, love her still."

Amazu was silent for a long while lost to his memories. "The biggest bad she ever had to go up against seemed to be unbeatable and most of the men who helped her had been killed. There were girls that were gathered, girls that had been identified as the next potential Chosen one. The Slayer, for that is what the Chosen One was called, trained these girls and protected them from the Big Bad. I helped. Finally, they found this dandy toy, this scythe that held strong magic. One of the Slayer’s friends and helpers was a witch…strongest that ever was. They got this idea to make an army by sharing the Slayer’s power. It worked and all the girls came into their power just in time for the great battle."

"So this army defeated the great evil?" Omalara was mesmerized by the tale as Amazu had told it.

"Not quite. There were too many of the bloody bastards for even an army of Slayers to take out. No, it was another magic device. Necklace with a stone that channeled light and power through a champion finally ended that battle." Amazu shivered a bit at the memory.

"What happened to the champion?" Omalara had a feeling the hero had not survived.

"Dusted. Was a vampire, yeah. All that sunlight wasn’t too healthy," Amazu seemed to smirk. "Brought it all down and put a cork in it."

Omalara stared in awe as the truth dawned on her. "It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who wore the device and ended the battle?"

Amazu merely snorted with a slightly bitter look. "Yeah, didn’t stay dust though. Might have been better if I had. Hooked up with my grandsire and his group and he came up with a grand plan to bring down the bad guys for good." Amazu closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. "Might as well have been one of my plans as bad as it turned out. I’m not known for makin’ good plans, but Angel was usually better than that. It’s the reason we trusted him."

"What happened?" Omalara had a feeling she knew but asked anyway.

"Opened the door wide and brought in destruction. Barely got away with my unlife. Blue carried me out of the alley. Got in touch with Red…um…the powerful witch I mentioned earlier. She finally got the portal closed but not before more demons moved in than anyone could hope to defeat." He clenched his jaw, suppressing deep emotion.

"Shoulda known better. My fault. That’s why I stayed to guard this place after Blue decided to return and wait for her proper time." He continued to speak with his eyes closed to the present and his mind viewing long ago events. "Angel had killed the previous guardian as part of his half-baked plan to get the bad guys to let him get close enough to get rid of them. That shoulda told us his plan was gonna go balls up. Can’t start a war by killin’ innocents if you plan to fight on the side of good."

"What about the army of Slayers? Could they not contain the demons?" Omalara was puzzled at how it had all gone so bad so quickly.

"Had problems there too, pet." Amazu looked at her and smiled. "See, not all the girls that might have had the power should have had it. Some were crazy, some were evil, some were power mad. Instead of the Powers that Be choosin’ the right one, they all got the power. They also used it all up. When the last of them died, there were no more Chosen Ones to choose."

"The good Slayers did their best. I fought with them, buried too many to count. Held my Slayer in my arms as she breathed her last. Buried all the ones I’d fought alongside. Tried to keep up the battle myself for as long as I could, but there were too many demons and not enough with the skills and power to take ‘em on." Amazu rose and turned his back as he drank from a bowl of what Omalara assumed was blood.

Fortified, he continued the tale. "Part of me wanted to just keep fightin’ ‘til I was dust again. Didn’t want to be here, you know, not with everyone I loved gone. Made a promise, though, to my lady. Promised I’d not take the easy way out; stay and fight the good fight. She thought the Powers had plans for me, that it was the reason they brought me back from dust after that battle with the First. So, here I am trying to do a good thing and waitin’ on the buggers that run things to make it all have a reason." Amazu looked at Omalara and his face broke into a genuine smile. "Maybe that’s why you’re here, ducks! Maybe now’s my time to make it count."

"I want to know how this Chosen One came to be. Do you know?" Omalara came to her main purpose.

"Rumors, tales told in the dark. I know what Buf… my Slayer told me about the Shadow Men. Seems a normal girl was invaded by the essence of a demon and became the first Slayer. From then on, when one Slayer died, another had the essence pass to them."

"So when the witch spread the power, she used up the essence?" Omalara was horrified that the possibility hadn’t occurred to this powerful witch.

"Pretty much sums it up," Amazu nodded.

"What kind of demon did they use?" Maybe if they repeated the original ritual the essence would return. Omalara felt the answer might be just that simple.

"Not completely sure, but judging by the characteristics, I always suspected it was a demon similar to the one I have. Maybe not vampire, but close…related, you know?" Amazu had also begun to see the possibility. "If you’re plannin’ on mojo like that you’ll need a demon to draw the essence from and a girl willing to take it on."

"I think I know just how such a thing can occur," Omalara somehow knew that Amazu would understand her plan and help her.

~~~

The magic Omalara used left a power trail that would be felt for generations to come, even more than the residue of the White One’s magic. This time the participants had both been volunteers knowing what they were doing and why. Amazu had helped discover what was needed for the ritual and he grew excited the closer the day came to its being performed. He said she had brought him the only hope he had experienced in eons.

Power that had been scattered in a cave long ago and far away was refocused now in this cave. The circle was closed, as in any proper ritual. Protection was once more available.

The return trip to her people was faster. Demons lay dead or dust all along her path as Omalara exercised her new powers. The word had started to spread that the days of demon dominance were coming to an end. There was a new Slayer, one more powerful than any in history, one filled with magic of her own as well as the power of her Choosing.

Men and women began to fight back as well, knowing all was not hopeless. As before, one girl would be called from each generation and this time the power would not be corrupted by small-minded men who wished the importance for themselves. This time the Powers would be in control. If a demon did evil or posed a danger, that demon would die.

Omalara the Slayer would see that all who followed would know the source and hold in reverence his memory. The name of Amazu would live through the ages, even though his dust lay in the cave that had been his home.

It was a shame Omalara had never been told his original name. She determined that its meaning of ‘protector’ would be whispered and never forgotten though. He had offered the essence of his demon, making Omalara the new beginning and sacrificing that which kept him from the dust he became. He did this willingly, knowingly and with a grateful smile.

Omalara hoped he had been reunited with those he loved and lost. She knew he died feeling his return from ash had served a purpose and that he had finally achieved his purpose. She knew it to be so as well.

The words he had given would be passed on as well: "In every generation, there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."

~fin


End file.
